


Run Away Home

by iamfitzwilliamdarcy



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Zutara, Gen, His best just still sucks, Now with more of the gaang, Ozai Is Doing His Best, Ozai is not as big a jerk as he could have been, Villain Dad turns Slightly Good, Zuko still has a scar because of course he does
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:49:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamfitzwilliamdarcy/pseuds/iamfitzwilliamdarcy
Summary: For the first time in his life, Prince Ozai stands up to his father-- in an effort to save his son. But a failed attempt on the Fire Lord's life instead sends Ozai on the run with Zuko.Years later, his only hope to return home and have a chance at the throne is finding the Avatar before his brother.
Relationships: Ozai & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 131
Kudos: 216





	1. Prologue

_“A son becomes a man at his father’s knee / If my father asked questions, where would we be?”  
_ _-Anastasia: Broadway_

_“Bullied children are scarred for life, and scarred children make destroyed adults.”  
_ _-The Crown, Paterfamilias_

* * *

The palace was far behind him when Ozai finally slowed. The bag bounced on his back, still, as he set Zuko on his feet--always too light, he’d grown a heavy burden in Ozai’s arms. The boy was shaking, tear tracks running down his face. One side of his face. He felt feverish, even to Ozai’s exercised-warmed skin. 

Ozai set his hands on his shoulders, and said, “Zuko.”

The boy looked up on him with enough focus that Ozai continued, voice quiet but firm, “I need you to walk now. When we’re out of the city you can rest.”

Zuko nodded, then gasped in pain.

“And be as quiet as possible,” Ozai added.

He forged on ahead, until Zuko lagged so far behind Ozai almost lost him. The boy had come to a complete halt and was startled at the appearance of his father in front of him. 

“Come on,” Ozai said, giving him a little push. Zuko began again, stumbling, and Ozai kept a firm hand on his shoulder.

They stopped near a creek, not quite as far out as Ozai would have liked, but Zuko could go no further.

“Sit,” Ozai directed, gesturing towards a rock. 

Zuko did. His eyes were fever-bright and half-mast, but he looked up expectantly at Ozai. 

“Let me see.” Ozai grasped Zuko’s chin, tilting his head slightly away. The burn was ugly, fresh and blistering, spreading from Zuko’s eye to his ear. His skin was puffy and swollen, and Ozai wondered at all that Zuko could see or hear on his left side. Ozai pressed his lips firmly together, examining it with displeasure. 

“It’ll need to be cleaned,” he announced. Added, handing Zuko a skin of water he’d packed away, “Drink this. Slow sips.” 

He made his way down to the creek to collect more water, giving himself time to think. 

Ozai had done what he’d had to do, but it had been impulsive. He had no good plan of where to go or what to do next--he’d barely even packed a bag. But while the Fire Lord, while his _father_ lived, Ozai could not go home. 

He dipped a cloth into the cool water of the creek. He would have to take this one step at a time, perhaps literally, and that meant first tending to the son whose death he would otherwise be mourning when the sun rose. 

“Zuko,” Ozai snapped, returning. The boy had been nodding off. “I told you to drink that.”

“Slow sips,” Zuko repeated faintly, the first words he’d spoken since he’d screamed, burning under his grandfather’s hand. His voice sounded hoarse, as abused as the skin around his eye.

Only when Zuko had taken a sip, and then another, under Ozai’s watchful gaze, did Ozai move forward. He reached to press the damp cloth to the burn, but Zuko recoiled away.

“Really, now, Zuko,” Ozai said impatiently. “It needs cleaning.”

He took hold of Zuko’s chin again, to hold him firm in place and set to work, cleaning the wound. Zuko, for his part, bore it well, only occasional, small whimpers of pain. Ozai dried it, then gently dabbed the wound with a salve he’d grabbed from his chambers; it was lucky, he thought ruefully, that Ursa had taken to carrying it around because her boy was so often burned in his Firebending training. 

With the salve applied, Ozai bandaged it quickly, then released Zuko, who, he noticed, seemed to breathe easier. Ozai had nothing to give him for the pain, so he tossed the boy a blanket and said, “Get some sleep.”

Zuko settled onto the ground, the blanket snug around him, but he didn’t sleep. He was watching Ozai intently.

“What?” Ozai snapped, finally.

In a small, faint voice, the boy asked, “Are you going to leave me?”

Ozai stared at him a long time, brow furrowed, face unreadable. Zuko stared back, anxiously. 

“No,” he said eventually. “I’m not going to leave you.”

Ozai thought Zuko sighed something like “Good,” but it had been so soft he couldn’t be sure, and then Zuko was asleep, and Ozai was left with just hours before dawn and a new life to confront. 


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ozai and Zuko adjust to their lives in exile, until Ozai receives news from a Fire Nation insider.

The first few months after their flight from the Capital were a rough learning curve for Ozai. He had the skills of a prince and warrior, which were not, as he discovered particularly valuable in a village workforce. He had taken to theft, supposing that, as a prince of the Fire Nation, even one in exile, he was not taking more than his due. It kept him and Zuko bouncing from village to village. At first, he considered this to be wise, to fade away from the Fire Lord’s consciousness, but soon, he realized that if he continued his thievery, he would draw attention to them. 

“You’re a good musician,” his son had told him, in the timidly assured way Zuko had. At eleven, he’d somehow gotten it into his head that people could survive by being talented alone. 

Ozai had scoffed; he’d have to fall a lot further before he begged for money on the streets with a Tsungi horn. 

He’d eventually taken a job at a local restaurant, from a skeptical owner who seemed sympathetic to his injured kid. He’d been promptly fired two weeks later for his attitude towards customers. 

He’d settled in another nearby village and gotten a job doing bookkeeping for a local inn; the restaurant owner had suggested it, in a fit of pity when Ozai had turned away after being fired and Zuko had been waiting for him at the door. The perks, he supposed, of having such a pathetic child. 

They’d been allowed a room at the inn while Ozai worked there, and it worked for them for nearly two years. Then, the Fire Lord died, peacefully in his bed, seven months into the second year of their exile. Notices went out to even the smallest of villages--Azulon had lived a long life and brought many victories and much glory to the Fire Nation in all the years he reigned. He was survived, now, by his elder son, the new Fire Lord, Iroh, and two grandchildren, among them the crown princess, Azula.

Ozai crumpled up the notice bitterly, and pretended to not notice when Zuko fished it out of their garbage later that night. What consolation the boy could possibly find in it, Ozai would never know. 

The Fire Nation mourned, and then Azulon was burned as his father had been before him and his father before him, returning to the flames that had, for so long, been his inner companion. 

The coronation of Fire Lord Iroh was a national holiday. It made Ozai’s black mood even blacker. Zuko didn’t seem to notice. They were together in their room as Ozai had been given the day off summing numbers to celebrate. 

“Do you think Uncle Iroh will let us come home now that he’s Fire Lord?” Zuko asked. He was leaning against the open window sill, basking in the sun. 

Ozai scowled at Zuko’s back. “No.”

The noticeable slump in Zuko's shoulders made him clench his jaw. 

Zuko turned to look at him. “Why not? Uncle Iroh was always nice to me.”

Ozai rolled his eyes. “Maybe he was an _indulgent_ uncle,” he said, “but a Fire Lord can hardly be kind to a traitor.”

“We’re not traitors!” Zuko insisted. “If he knew--”

“He doesn’t,” Ozai said shortly. “And the circumstances don’t absolve me. Enough, Zuko.”

“You haven’t even tried!” Zuko cried. “You could just write to him and--,”

“Zuko,” Ozai snapped, voice raising as Ozai himself stood to tower over him. “I said _enough_ . We cannot go home now. That is the end of that, and _Agni help you_ if you don’t drop it this _instant_.” 

Zuko’s eyes watered, and though he tried valiantly to blink the tears away, his tears still enraged Ozai.

“Don’t cry,” he snarled. He grabbed the boy’s upper arm and shook him. “Do _not_ cry.”

“I’m not,” Zuko said, his voice weak. “I’m sorry, I won’t.”

You are a prince of the Fire Nation,” Ozai shouted, “Act like it.”

Zuko nodded, and Ozai backed away, the flash of anger leaving as soon as it had appeared. They both stood, panting, in their little apartments, while the world outside celebrated. 

Abruptly, Ozai said, voice calm, “Pack up. We need to leave in the morning.” 

Zuko looked up sharply, but while he looked pale still, no tears glistened in his eyes. He looked, for a moment, like he might ask Ozai a question, but then he changed his mind, and said, “Yes, Father,” before scurrying away into the other room. 

They had left at sunrise and traveled for weeks, sleeping in the woods. Ozai’s dreams were plagued with dragons, and they reminded him of Iroh. 

_The Sun Warriors rode dragons to battle,” Iroh told him while he was bent over the scrolls his tutor had assigned him, tongue poking out in concentration. His brother was home fresh from his first stint with the army, lounging against Ozai’s desk, and eager to fill his head with stories._

_“That’s dumb,” Ozai was not so eager to listen. Iroh never even bothered with the good stories about strategy and conquest. “Dragons aren’t real.”_

_“They’ve died off,” Iroh said gravely, “but once they were very real. Surely you’ve learned of—“_

_Ozai, annoyed, heaved the candle he was studying by at Iroh’s head. Iroh chuckled; it rarely occurred to the boy he was the only one with such a privilege as assaulting the crown prince._

_“I don’t have time for your fairy tales, Iroh,” Ozai insisted, and Iroh laughed a little, but left him alone._

He was only dreaming of dragons, Ozai assured himself, because of the coronation. He tossed and turned at nights, and kept Zuko on the move in mornings. 

************** 

Jang Hui was not high on the list of port calls Zhao wanted to make on his first deployment since being promoted to Commander. Jang Hui, on a river, was hardly a port at all, and his lip curled at the smell of fish that permeated everywhere he went.

Soon, he supposed, it would be replaced with the smells of the factory. He was here per his Admiral’s request to see how construction was advancing. This was not, altogether, a Naval function, but he supposed that the metal that benefitted the Army would also benefit their ships. And it never hurt that their Admirals had an ongoing relationship with the Generals--all the better, to support the Fire Nation. 

If the city were bigger, it could even serve functionally as a stop prior to deployment to the Earth Kingdom. 

Still, Zhao could not wait to return to the Capital. He had exciting new information, and knew a new deployment would be coming, sooner, rather than later. 

This morning, however, he had other, less exciting but still important duties about town, where Zhao liked to keep an ear out, to hear the general mood. This village had some grumblings about the Factory that he would report back to his Admiral, but there seemed to be more gossip about a rather strange father-and-son pair--out-of-towners who’d only moved in the last year or so. 

The father, like most of the village men, worked for the fishing business, while the son sometimes served at the local tea shop. 

“Never seen a firebender like that before,” one old man was saying, eating lunch near the piers. “He teaches his son in the morning, he does, won’t let anyone else nearby, but I seen ‘em in the woods, when they think they’re alone.”

“You’d think he’d join the Navy then,” another said, shaking his head, “ ‘stead of wasting his life away here.”

“I bet,” said the first, “he _were_ in the Navy, but deserted.”

“Or was disgraced,” piped up a third.

“Nah,” said the first. “Too proud. Tried talking to him on break the other day, shoulda _seen_ the look he gave me.”

“Then what’s he running from?”

“Think he gave the kid that scar?” one of the others threw out. 

The first man shrugged. “Coulda, with the way he trains him.”

Zhao continued on his way when the conversation turned to less interesting matters, thinking hard. It was not unheard of to have Firebenders in the colonies, but the talent he’d heard described made them sound as if they were Mainlanders. Perhaps, he considered, it was just ignorant colonials who’d never seen true feats of Firebending, but….his instincts told him there was something more _hidden_ here. 

*************** 

Ozai was late for his morning shift. He and Zuko now lived in the fishing village in Jang Hui where, for nearly two years now, Ozai worked the menial, degrading job of a fisherman and continued Zuko’s education--firebending in the mornings, on the outskirts of town, in the woods, history and strategy in the evenings. 

Zuko was a slow learner, and Ozai, if he were honest with himself, and he was often not, found himself missing the quick wit and raw talent of his sister. Those days, where he missed Azula most, he doubled down on Zuko until the boy was buried under lessons and exhausted from practicing his forms. 

The night before was one of those nights. Zuko was having particular difficulty with the middle sequence of his next form-- he was sloppy, uncoordinated, demonstrating the skill level of an actual child. Zuko's expressions of determination and frustration, in a never ending sequence infuriated Ozai, and he barked out critiques until the sun was setting and they were both panting. 

“Get it right,” Ozai finally snarled, turning his back and starting back towards their house, “and you can come home.”

_It was a rare evening when Fire Lord Azulon showed to observe his younger son’s firebending lesson. He was already old when the young prince was born, and older now that the boy had grown to 15. He had spent the better part of the last two decades ensuring the smooth running of his kingdom, assuring many victories for the Fire Nation, and preparing his elder son to take over the throne. There was little time left to ensure the younger met his expectations. The child so rarely did that Azulon had nearly given up on him._

_He observed for nearly twenty minutes, the prince and his tutor nervous under his gaze. Finally, he snapped, “Master Jun, you let the prince get away with far too much. It is no wonder he is still struggling with forms his brother mastered years before this age.”_

_The Master bowed and opened his mouth, as if to defend his pupil, but Azulon dismissed him, disinterested. The Master, with a quick, apologetic glance back to his shame-faced pupil, retreated quickly, bowing as he went._

_“Again,” Azulon ordered, and Ozai went through the form. He was met with many more agains until he was panting and dripping sweat. The Firelord made a noise of disgust, and Ozai hoped, as his father turned to leave, he would finally be allowed a break._

_“Stay here,” Azulon ordered, “until you get it right.”_

Zuko wasn’t back until after Ozai had fallen asleep that night. It should have concerned him, the exiled prince for whom he’d given everything up, left alone in a forest. It only made him angry, and he fell asleep in a fitful rage. 

He was used to waking up to Zuko clanging around in the kitchen to make them a meager breakfast. They would eat, and Ozai would run him through his forms again. He would assigned Zuko scrolls of text to work his way through and analyze while Ozai himself went to work. So their mornings had passed for the past two years. 

This morning, Zuko was not there, and Ozai woke only to the sun rising. Furious, cursing himself and Agni for burdening him with such a son, he made his way back to the clearing in the forest where they had practiced the night before. 

_It was hours and hours, well past midnight, that Ozai practiced. Try and try, fail and fail. Finally, exhausted he quit._

_He snuck back to his room, furious with his father, furious with Iroh, furious with his tutor, furious with himself._

Zuko was moving through the form, again, sloppier than when he’d begun but not as sloppy as when Ozai had left. The sun’s rising surely helped. Ozai stepped into the clearing, crushing a branch beneath his foot with a loud crack. 

Zuko startled, looking guilty. His face was flushed red and smeared in mud and ash. Ozai stared back. 

“I couldn’t get it,” Zuko confessed, in a whisper, after a long moment, staring now at his feet. “I’m sorry.” 

_His father waited for him in his room, sitting upon the couch. He looked expectantly at Ozai, who dropped to his knees, humiliated, and confessed, “I could not master it. I am sorry, Father.”_

_He waited a long time under Azulon’s gaze. For what, he didn’t know. He hoped for a word of encouragement, was sure even a harsh word of criticism would be welcome._

_His father stood without a word and left, his robes rustling against Ozai’s bowed face._

Ozai didn’t say anything. They both knew Azula would have mastered the form by now, that she probably had already, long before Zuko. She, a prodigy, who accomplished as soon as she was taught, had been far more pleasant to train. But Ozai didn’t have Azula. He had Zuko. 

Silence fell over them; the forest itself even seemed hushed, holding witness to this moment of failure. 

Eventually, when Zuko snuck a peak up at his father, eyes full of something that bordered hope and made Ozai sick, Ozai gestured ahead of him. 

Zuko reddened again, but he scurried in front of his father, eager again, always eager, to please. Ozai followed, the day’s rising humidity as suffocating as the disappointment that shrouded them. 

Zuko hurried to make breakfast upon their return, but Ozai told him not to bother. “I’m late,” he said shortly. He went to leave, and paused at the door. He almost told Zuko to get some rest, but Zuko knew how to look after himself. With a sigh, he pushed out the door and went to the degrading drudgery of his job.

*******************

Ozai made some excuse for his tardiness to his supervisor, mentioning his son as vaguely as possible, as he approached the docks, feeling inwardly indignant that he even reported to another man. Five years of exile, and employment had not humbled him yet. 

He set about his work, then paused, looking up at the altered skyline. Overnight, the Navy had arrived. The ships that had once been his right to command sat in the harbor, out of his reach and possibly dangerous to him. 

“Inspecting the new factory,” the supervisor told him, catching Ozai’s sight. He shrugged a little as Ozai scrunched his brow, considering. “That’s what I was told at least.”

Ozai worked through his lunch break to make up for his tardiness. He preferred it that way, without all the other fishermen around; it had been a long time since any had tried to talk to him beyond a standard greeting or quick heads up, but they still chatted and joked with each other, and the noise of the commoners grated on Ozai’s nerves. 

The day continued, as so many had before them, but as Ozai took a small break, having carried in his last catch, a group of the sailors returning to their ships passed. They were mostly enlisted, Ozai noticed, but a few officers were scattered around. 

One caught his eye; Ozai nodded at him, but the commander tilted his head, as if evaluating. Ozai had the distinct impression he was recognized. The commander broke free and made his way over to him. Ozai recognized the man, younger than he, perhaps as old as Lu Ten would have been; he could not place the name. Not a _nobleman,_ then. 

Ozai’s supervisor intercepted the commander, and they chatted a moment, before the commander waved him off and continued on his path to Ozai. 

“Good afternoon,” the man said, as he approached. 

“Commander,” Ozai nodded at him. He took a sip of his water, evaluating. 

“Zhao,” the man offered, and the name rang a small bell in Ozai’s head. He _had_ met Zhao before, and his estimation hadn’t been entirely off. He came from a well-off family that had no noble or royal ties, but his money, talent and work ethic had earned him a place at the Royal Naval Academy. He had trained with Lu Ten in school and even tagged along on a few of Lu Ten’s trips home. 

It appeared, Ozai thought ruefully, his nephew’s taste in friends had not been quite discerning. 

“Commander Zhao,” Ozai acknowledged. Then, turning to leave, he said, “Good day.”

“Prince Ozai,” Zhao said, voice just loud enough that Ozai could hear, but not anyone else.

He _had_ been recognized then. 

Ozai turned, arching a brow, and waited. If this Zhao wanted to speak with a prince, he would speak appropriately. 

“I noticed a charming tea shop on my tour of the village,” Zhao continued, when he had Ozai’s attention. “I rather hoped we could chat this evening.” 

Ozai considered. It could be a trap, this commander sent by his brother to arrest him. Yet, here Ozai stood, a lowly fisherman, no money to his name. No one would protest his arrest here and now. These villagers hardly cared at all for Fire Nation politics. They worried only about how to cook their next fish, if they managed to secure one. 

“About what?” he asked. 

His coworkers were starting to file out behind him, some lingering to observe the scene, some shooting looks of raised eyebrows at each other. 

“Ah,” Zhao said, thoughtful. “The Fire Lord is trying to get a sense of the impact of the Factory here and how the villagers might help us support the cause. I’ve heard rumors you might be the person to talk about that.”

One of the other fishermen nearby snorted at that and muttered something that sounded like, “Mainlanders.”

Ozai nodded. Whatever rumors Zhao had heard, he was sure were not so complimentary. The men here thought him strange, and Ozai preferred it that way. But if only they knew…

Zhao waited, expectantly, and Ozai said, tone naturally shifting to authoritative, “Be there in an hour.” 

*******************

“So.” Commander Zhao leaned back against his seat, taking a sip of tea. Ozai had never liked how proud the other man was, especially for his age and station. He seemed to the Fire Prince to have a perpetual, unearned _air_ about him. “You’ve been hiding out here.”

“Only recently,” Ozai said. Despite his fisherman's garb, _he_ was the royal one at this table. They both knew it. He took a sip of his own. “I hear the war….progresses.”

“The Earth Kingdom cannot stand forever,” Zhao said.

“Ba Sing Se might,” Ozai scoffed. “They have not yielded to my brother yet.” 

“The Fire Lord,” Zhao said, stressing Iroh’s title, “will not suffer a further loss there.” He paused again, then leaned in conspiratorially, “I have news you might find interesting.”

“What’s your price?” Ozai asked, arching an eyebrow. 

“The Avatar has returned,” Zhao said, lowering his voice without answering. “At the South Pole. Even now, I am gathering men to deploy that way.”

“The South Pole?” Ozai asked, skeptical. “Why would he go _there_? There wouldn’t even be a waterbender left to teach him.”

Zhao shrugged. “Agni only knows what goes on in the mind of the Avatar. The information is reliable, if extraordinary.”

“And surely not free,” Ozai pressed.

“Let’s just say,” Zhao said, with a quick glance around the room, “you have loyal supporters.”

Ozai leaned back, thinking. If he could get to the Avatar first--if he could beat Iroh-- 

“Am I to understand,” Ozai said, “you mean yourself?”

“Among others,” Zhao said. “It’s why I tell you. You understand the need for discretion, of course.”

“Of course,” Ozai said. He stroked his beard, thinking more. It was doable--he could pack up Zuko easily, commandeer a small boat, and be on their way before the sun even rose.

“I should be getting along,” Zhao said. “I hope we’ll be in touch soon, Prince Ozai.”

Ozai inclined his head. “Commander,” he dismissed. 

“On the Fire Lord,” Zhao added, with a little smile, dropping coins onto the table to pay for their tea. 

Zhao stood and left, bumping into Zuko on his way in. Zuko, per usual, was not paying attention, busy tying his apron around his waist. He was knocked sideways, but hardly glanced up at the commander, and was, clearly, beneath the commander’s notice. 

Ozai’s lip curled. Zhao ought to have bowed at the Fire Prince’s entrance. The whole tea shop ought to have bowed. 

Zuko smiled at him from across the room in greeting, and Ozai stirred his tea, thinking. His son was alive, but this servitude was no life for a prince. 

They couldn’t live like this forever. 

*******************

Princess Azula was about to sit down to dinner with her mother and Zai when her uncle’s secretary, Tomi, appeared at their door. With a polite, apologetic bow, he said, “The Fire Lord requests to dine with his heir this evening.”

Azula sighed, glancing at her mother. Ursa’s attention was already back on Zai, piling his plate with food, as if he wasn't old enough to get his own food now. “Go on, dear,” she said, distracted. She hadn’t even reprimanded Azula for her melodrama.

Azula stood. "Bye, Zula!" Zai called after her, waving. 

She ignored her brother, and followed Tomi to her uncle’s dining room.They didn’t speak on the way. 

The Fire Lord was at the head of the table, and, like Ursa, barely looked up at her except to murmur a cursory good evening. Azula bowed politely and then took her seat across from him. 

She was served wine and a bowl of soup. She scowled when she sipped the wine then snapped her fingers at the servant. 

“I haven’t needed my wine watered since I was 12,” she said. “Bring me a real glass.” 

Uncle looked up, surprised at the reprimand. “My apologies, Princess,” he said. “I forget how quickly children grow.”

She wanted to inform him she was not a child but his heir and ought to be treated as such, but Mother would think that behavior proof she was a child still, so Azula bit her tongue. 

Instead, she offered, “I advance quicker than most children do.”

Iroh hummed in what she supposed was agreement, though he didn’t acknowledge the many accomplishments she was sure were reported to him. 

“My tutors tell me my mind for strategy rivals that of Fire Lord Sozin,” she boasted, bringing a spoonful of soup to her lips. “And my masters say I will soon surpass even their abilities to instruct.”

“Impressive,” Uncle told her idly. “Your cousin was much the same. He outmastered his masters by age 11.” He chuckled a little, “Though he was always very humble.”

Azula snatched her newly poured wine and hastily took a sip. If he were alive, she could take Lu Ten in a duel and everyone, except Uncle apparently, knew it. 

_He will see your greatness_ , a voice in her head echoed. She scowled at the ghostly compliment of the father who had abandoned her. Ozai had always boasted of her, until it mattered. Until he chose Zuko to be his own heir. 

If she thought about Father too long, her insides boiled with rage, forcing her to retire and practice forms until the sun set and her anger with it. 

As if reading her thoughts, Uncle shifted forward, elbows on the table to lean in. “I have news you may not want to hear.” 

She perked up, thrilled at last to be trusted with the ongoings of the Fire Nation. 

“Are we making progress in Ba Sing Se at last?” Uncle would not yet allow her in the war counsels, though she knew with her insight they may have broken the Earth Nation years ago. A strategic mind to rival Fire Lord Sozin’s, after all. 

Uncle frowned. “Our status so far is unchanged. Do not concern yourself with such matters yet.”

“What else ought the future Fire Lord concern herself with?” Azula asked haughtily. 

Uncle did not reprimand her impertinence. He rarely did. “Her studies,” he answered. “And her peers, while she can.”

She made a face. “Did Mother ask you to tell me that?” Ursa had been pushing her to dance with suitors lately, or at least make polite conversation. It was galling, Azula had told her, to be forced to talk with the dimwitted sons of Fire Nation nobility. 

Iroh raises his eyebrows in a way that told her he and Ursa rarely discussed her. “No,” he said. 

“What’s the news?” she asked, heading off a lecture she anticipated coming. 

The servants came back with their entrée, taking away the bowls of soup and refilling the wine. 

“Prince Ozai has made an appearance,” he told her gravely. 

Azula caught her breath. “My father showed his face?”

“To Commander Zhao,” Uncle confirmed. “He has heard the rumors that the Avatar has returned and seems to think he, of all men, can find him.” 

Azula snorted. “Why would he want to do that?”

“To claim my throne, I’m sure,” Uncle said, almost disinterested. 

Azula frowned. “It’s a long shot. Desperation. My father would never be so cavalier, so...so _unthinking_ ,” she insisted. 

“Except, of course,” Iroh reminded her, “when he tried to assassinate the Fire Lord.” 

Azula looked down at her dinner. “Why are you telling me?” she demanded. “What do you want me to do about it?”

She had managed to startle the Fire Lord. “Nothing, child,” he said. “I just wanted you to know. I suspect you’ll be hearing whispers about them.” 

“You want me to tell my mother,” she said flatly.

“She ought to know before she hears the gossip,” the Fire Lord acquiesced. He was already done with his dinner though half his food lay uneaten on his plate. 

“You may go,” he said, and Azula stood, dismissed, wondering how many minutes a day the Fire Lord wasted thinking about his long dead son. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I obviously changed the timeline of the last of the dragons a bit in the flashback -- canon is flexible for me at this point (the joy of AUs). Thank you for all your comments; they made me want to post again as quickly as possible! :) Most of the next chapter is written already--I'm trying to keep about one chapter ahead of posting.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ozai and Zuko journey away from Jang Hui by boat, but a port stop at Kyoshi for supplies may cut their hunt for the Avatar short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to catie_writes_things for her never-ending patience, attention to detail, and willingness to bounce ideas around!

An oversight in Zuko’s education, Ozai learned quickly, was that he had never learned how a ship operated or developed any sense of sailing skills. With just the two of them on a small, stolen steam boat, Ozai had to make sure he learned quickly. 

It would be a lot smoother, Ozai complained to himself, if Zuko hadn’t had an _annoying_ habit of looking out to the river, head in the clouds, as they left. The full moon shone overhead, making Ozai anxious of being seen. 

“Zuko!” he snapped, again, “For the last time, pay attention!”

“Sorry!” Zuko said. Then, “Don’t you see her?”

Ozai looked out to where Zuko was gazing. He shook his head. 

“Nobody’s there,” he said, shortly “Come on.”

“She was,” Zuko insisted, crossing his arms and scowling. “She was there.”

Ozai paused. 

It was not the first time they’d had this argument. Over the years they’d lived in Jang Hui, Zuko had often found the river a source of comfort. He would visit after he got off work, as the sun set or under the weak light of the moon; sometimes, when he had breakfast ready for Ozai but before their training sessions, he’d slip out to sit there at sunrise. Always, he said, there was a Lady who visited him.

_She came to Ozai several months into his new job, floating alongside him as he fished. Her face was painted red and white; her dark hair stood out, floating along her white hat and dress. Startled, he looked into her face; she smiled, and was gone, lost in the ripples of the water. Ozai shook his head. It was hot, and he was hallucinating. He took a sip of water and returned to his task._

_He saw her again when looking for Zuko for an evening training session. The owner of the tea shop told him the boy had left hours ago, and Ozai, weary from a long day along the river, was annoyed to track his son back there._

_Zuko didn’t notice his approach and startled when Ozai laid a firm hand on his shoulder._

_“Is this where you’ve been in the mornings?”_

_Zuko nodded, looking abashed._

_“Hm.” Ozai’s response was laden with disapproval._

_“You don’t like it on the river,” Zuko said, quietly. Almost sadly. Then, a question, “You don’t find her soothing? I like to try to match my breath to the current.”_

_“The river is too fast for proper meditation,” Ozai scolded. Not that he meditated frequently._

_“Sometimes,” Zuko agreed. “Sometimes she slows it down for me.”_

_“Who?” Ozai demanded, and Zuko frowned, as if afraid._

_“The Lady,” he said. “It’s_ her _river. Look.” He brought a small flame to his hands and closed his eyes, his breath becoming deliberate._

_“It’s the Fire Lord’s river,” Ozai said irritably, but he glanced towards the river and its gurgling current as Zuko had asked. A face stared back at him, and it was only years of his own father’s lessons that kept him from startling as badly as Zuko had._

_She rose from the water, though Zuko didn’t seem to notice, his eyes still closed. She did not smile this time, but pointed a finger at him instead. “Prince Ozai,” she said, ominously, “you have much healing ahead of you.”_

_He blinked, and she was gone, as quickly as she’d come. Ozai shook his head; he was letting Zuko fill it with fantasies._

Ozai followed Zuko’s gaze, but he didn’t see the Lady now, and the full moon made him antsy, sure they would be caught under his bright light. All the more need for speed and stealth. 

“Forget her,” he told Zuko firmly. “And help me.”

“You never believe me,” Zuko muttered under his breath; Ozai wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear or not, but the boy followed, so he pretended he didn’t. 

*******************

The boy was in a _mood_ now. The sun was rising, they were, in Ozai’s estimate, safely out at sea, but Zuko was making his mood known. He did what Ozai asked, but stomped around as if to make his displeasure known and huffed breaths that trailed smoke into the air. 

It was an increasing trend, one Zuko had been developing well before they’d boarded the small confines of a commandeered boat, before Ozai had even scolded him about his Lady. While he was still obedient, he was increasingly more prone to fits of sullenness or bursts of anger. The best way Ozai knew how to deal with it was to have the boy work harder at _something_ , even the forms that frustrated him, or to leave him alone completely. 

When the boy didn’t settle, Ozai, a headache forming, snapped “Either say what’s bothering you or be angry away from me. I am not in the mood for this.”

Zuko glowered for a minute, then burst out, “What are we doing?” 

“Excuse me?” Ozai asked, when Zuko didn’t elaborate.

“You haven’t told me anything!” Zuko said, voice rising as the boy really got himself worked up. “You just dragged me onto his boat in the middle of the night and you haven’t told me why or what we’re doing or what _I’m_ supposed to be doing!”

“You’re supposed to do what I tell you,” Ozai said. “And right now I’m telling you to pull yourself together.”

Zuko breathed in and out sharply, a few spray sparks flying. He drew another breath, steadier and deeper, then said, more calmly, “I’m doing everything you ask, Father, but I don’t know _why_ we’re out here or where we’re going. It’s not like the other times we’ve moved. What if you need more help from me?”

There was no clear reason to leave Zuko in the dark other than annoyance at the boy’s demanding attitude and annoyance at the fact that he was _right_ about Ozai’s oversight. Ozai hadn’t wanted to say anything in the small village, and there’d been no time later--it hadn’t occurred to him Zuko would even wonder. 

Ozai frowned at him for so long that Zuko bowed his head and mumbled a sullen apology. Ozai did not accept it, but said, instead, “I received intelligence from one of the Naval officers that the Avatar has returned; there are confirmed sightings.”

Zuko looked up, startled out of his moodiness. “The Avatar?”

Ozai nodded. “My source tells me he was at the South Pole, but as there are no waterbenders left there, I suspect he will be headed North. I plan to intercept him.”

Zuko looked thoughtful, his brow furrowing. “But...what will you do when you find him?”

“He’s our path back home,” Ozai said.

“You’ll get him to petition Uncle Iroh for us?” Zuko asked, eyes widening. 

Ozai frowned at him again. What a childish thought from a boy nearly grown. “Not petition,” he said impatiently. “Overthrow. I have told you time and time again that I am not seeking a pardon, nor would I be granted one.”

It was Zuko’s turn to frown back. “Oh,” he said. Then, “But Uncle Iroh--”

“The Fire Lord has failed his people long enough,” Ozai cut in. “My brother was never the best suited to the throne, and his failures have only multiplied since the failed siege on Ba Sing Se and Lu Ten’s death. We need a strong ruler to advance the Fire Nation’s cause. The only way home is if I am Fire Lord.”

Zuko was quiet again, processing. It was a decent change from the earlier outburst. After a moment, Ozai added, “You do want to go home?”

Zuko met his father’s stern gaze, aghast. “Of course I do.” 

“Then do what I say,” Ozai said. “And I will get us there.”

Zuko nodded, and Ozai told him to get back to work, and they sailed on. 

*******************

“Watch your brother,” Ursa had said, when Azula relayed the news about Prince Ozai to her. She’d swept out of the room before Azula could even protest that Ursa couldn’t order the Crown Princess around like that anymore. It never _worked_ , but one day Azula would be Fire Lord and Ursa would wish she had listened. 

As far as brothers went, Zai was fine. Azula rarely had to see him, though she saw him more than Zuko, these days. Obviously. He kept Ursa mostly occupied, allowing Azula her own freedom.

He was a nuisance, though, when Ursa left them alone together. He always wanted to hold her hand, or to have her to show him firebending moves--as if he could ever be on her level! At his age, she’d already surpassed Zuko, two years ahead of her. Though, she thought fairly, Zai was better than Zuko had been at his age. 

He was not as fun to tease as Zuko though. He was too little to get half of what she said, and he was more prone to shake off her meanness than Zuko, who stomped around and turned red and raged. 

“Where’d Mama go?” he asked today, looking up from his breakfast.

Azula shrugged, “Probably to talk to the Fire Lord,” she said, flipping idly through scrolls of sheet music Ursa had left for her. She paused, thinking, then said, “I have an idea.”

She let Zai hold her hand as they snuck back towards Iroh’s war room. It kept him quiet more than her finger to her lip and a threatening glare, and sometimes, you had to know when you were beat. She took him down the seldom-used passage, where she knew there would be no guards and easy listening access. 

Crouching close to an opening, she could hear her mother’s voice rising, “He has my _son_ , Iroh!”

“We don’t know that,” Iroh said back, his quiet voice still carrying. “Commander Zhao reported nothing of a boy.”

Azula filed the name away for later. If the Fleet was returning soon to the Mainland, she wanted to know who would have the best information. 

“And did you ask him?” Ursa snapped back. “Did you _ask_ Commander Zhao about Zuko?”

Iroh was quiet a long while. “You know I didn’t.”

Ursa’s silence that followed was nearly as long. “You think he’s dead.”

“I think,” Iroh said gently, “you need to be prepared for the possibility. My father was sure he could not have survived.” 

“Who’s Zuko?” Zai whispered, as Azula sat back on her heels and frowned. 

“Shush,” she told him, distracted. Leave it to Zuko to finally be chosen by Dad and go ahead and die on him. Dum Dum. 

Ursa bid the Fire Lord and cold good-bye. Her footsteps echoing up to them jolted Azula back into action. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts, and grabbed Zai’s hand, admonishing him not to mention Zuko to Ursa, to hurry back to their rooms.

Zuko wasn’t dead, she was sure. She would _know_ if he were. 

*******************

“Where’d you get so good at boats?” Zuko asked, huffing while he worked, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to remember exactly what Ozai told him to do. There never seemed to be a gap in his father’s knowledge--he always had a plan for what was next and how to get that done. 

Ozai paused in steering the boat, alternating between his compass, the stars, and the ocean ahead, give Zuko one of those You-re-Asking-Too-Many-Questions looks. Zuko got that look a lot. When Ozai turned back to the wheel though, he answered, “When I was about your age, my education included plenty on Naval strategy, but little on Naval life. Iroh was in the Army, and I thought, perhaps, learning my way around a ship would be useful. It wasn’t.”

“Until now,” Zuko said, helpfully. Ozai inclined his head in acknowledgment. 

After a moment, Ozai said, “Come here. You’ll need to learn this too if it’s just the two of us.” 

Zuko went quickly to Ozai’s side, and Ozai stepped back. “Really?” Zuko asked, looking up at him, and Ozai nodded. Zuko stepped hesitantly towards the wheel, placing a tentative hand on it. 

“Top center, Zuko,” Ozai snapped, reaching from behind to grip his wrist and position it properly. Ozai’s correction was firm, but not particularly harsh, and Zuko liked how close he felt, even when so exasperated. “For Agni’s sake, it won’t bite you.”

Zuko gripped the wheel firmly but not tightly. “Good,” Ozai said, and Zuko glowed. “Hold it steady. I have us set in the right direction. We’ll need to bear off soon, but I’ll show you then.”

“Will you show me the compass too?” Zuko asked eagerly. 

“When it’s necessary,” Ozai said. “Focus now. There shouldn’t be many boats in these waters this time of night, but you need to be vigilant.

Ozai stayed, supervising Zuko, until they had to bear right. Zuko jerked the wheel, causing his father to stumble behind him. 

“I said _bear_ , Zuko,” Ozai reprimanded.

“Sorry!” Zuko said, trying to jerk the wheel back to center. 

Ozai regained his footing and put his hand over Zuko’s; he guided it just so, and the boat responded _bearing_ back to the left. 

Ozai glanced at the compass, then up at the stars, and nodded to himself. “Keep this course,” he said. “No bearing, no jerking.”

“Where are you going?” Zuko asked, careful to not let his sudden panic into his voice.

Ozai heard it anyway and rolled his eyes. “To rest, Zuko. You’re to wake me in a true emergency, but only then. I’ll relieve you in a couple of hours.” 

Ozai was true to his word, and it was only two hours later that he returned, looking more alert. Zuko was tense and stiff and startled when his father’s hand fell on his shoulder.

“Sleep,” Ozai ordered. “We’ll review the compass in the morning.”

It wasn’t a correction, so Zuko relaxed his shoulders and curled up in bed, still warm from his father’s body.

*******************

They were on the boat for days, Ozai instructing Zuko in navigation and boat maintenance and management. With just the two of them, there was always something to do and little time to rest. Zuko scurried around trying to learn as quickly as possible so Ozai could sleep more. 

They finally docked at Kyoshi Island, low on supplies. Ozai gave Zuko what meager money they had, instructing him to buy food. Zuko looked down at the money in his hand, then back up at Ozai. He looked like he wanted to ask Ozai where _he_ would be, but decided against it and headed towards the local market. 

As he approached the stalls, considering what foods his father would most appreciate onboard their boat and what could keep a while, he caught sight of a girl and a boy arguing. The boy had arrows on his head and Zuko drew in a sharp breath. An _airbender—_ he _had_ to be the Avatar, the one his father was seeking.

But the boy stormed off before Zuko had time to register more than that he looked far younger than either he or Ozai had predicted. 

The girl remained, and Zuko rehearsed how to ask her about the Avatar.

 _Hello_ , he practiced to himself. _Do you know the Avatar? My father would like to meet him._

 _Hi, I’m Zuko,_ another option. Or Lee. He should have asked his father if they needed fake names here, but Ozai never actually called Zuko by them. _My father has many things to discuss with the Avatar. Do you know where he went?_

He drew in a deep breath and slid up to the girl, who was examining a papaya to buy. She looked up at him with a polite smile. Zuko opened his mouth, but with her blue eyes looking at him, all his rehearsed lines came out as a demanding, “Where’s the Avatar?”

Her eyes narrowed at him, taking in his burned face and golden eyes, and her hand went to the skin at her waist. “Who’s asking?” 

He held up his hands in a non-threatening gesture, wondering what weapon she could have hidden in there. Could she be a Waterbender? 

“I--,” he started. 

“You’re Fire Nation,” she accused.

“Yes,” he said. Then hastily, “But we’re fugitives!”

Before he quite knew what happened, she sent a whip of water across his face. It wasn’t forceful, but it stung. He was startled enough that the girl was running away. 

“Wait!” he yelled, taking off after her. “Wait, come back!” 

He had some height on her, but she was fast, darting between villagers. He almost lost sight of her a couple times, especially with her blue clothes blending into the crowd; why was there so much blue in the Earth Kingdom? She was heading towards the water, and skidded to a sudden stop at the beach to avoid tripping over a gaggle of girls, who were suddenly shrieking. 

Zuko, having gained on her, was not quite as quick-- he turned so as to not step on a girl’s hand, and ran smack into his father. 

Ozai, unimpressed, looked down where his son had fallen and said, “Get up. I asked you to get food, not play games.”

“She knows the Avatar,” Zuko panted from his spot on the ground, pointing at Katara.

“As you can see,” Ozai said, gesturing to the ocean, “The Avatar is in the water. This is not what I needed your help with.”

Zuko blinked, then scrambled to his feet. “Why is he in the water?”

“He wants to ride the Unagi!” one of the girls in the gaggle said, even as the Water Tribe girl’s voice overlapped, telling them it was none of their business. 

“Why does the Avatar want to ride the Unagi?” Zuko asked, craning to see the boy in the ocean. 

“It’s supposed to be cool,” the ringleader of the gaggle said, rolling her eyes, “but it’s taking forever.”

“Perhaps,” Ozai suggested, in his voice that said this was not a suggestion, “you girls ought to be heading back home.”

The ringleader looked like she wanted to protest, but Ozai’s narrowed eyes cowed her.

“It’s almost suppertime, surely,” he added, for good measure, and one of the girls said quietly that he was right. The girls picked themselves up to leave, shouting “Sorry, Aang’s” to the ocean. Only the Water Tribe girl was left, hand still on her waterskin. 

She stood, on the other side of what had been the gaggle of girls, glaring at them. “Who are you anyway?” she demanded. 

“I’m Zuko!” Zuko said, raising his hand in greeting. He turned to his father expectantly, but Ozai was watching the ocean, brow still furrowed. His gaze shifted back to the girl, and he looked like he was evaluating her. Then, he said, “I am someone with something to offer the Avatar. Perhaps you could convince him to return to shore.” 

She frowned at him, suspicious, and Ozai shrugged. “Or you could let the Unagi get him. It’s only a matter of time.”

She turned sharply, and called, “Aang! Come back!”

The boy shouted something, and as soon as he was swimming their way, she turned back to face Zuko and Ozai. “If this is a trap…” she started.

Ozai scoffed at her. “You’re an untrained Waterbender,” he said, “and I suspect the Avatar has little training to his name. Trapping you would be a waste of time.”

The girl flushed, and glanced at Zuko again, who shrugged a little helplessly. 

“You forgot me!” said another voice behind them. A boy, with features like the girl but dressed in the traditional Kyoshi Warrior garb, was clamoring down a dune behind them.

Ozai arched an eyebrow, a little smirk on the corner of his lips as he took in the newcomer. “Please,” he said, gesturing to where the girl and the Avatar stood. “Join us.”

In response, the boy charged at Ozai, a boomerang raised in one hand, a fan in the other. Ozai reached out a hand and caught the boy’s forehead, then pushed. The boy landed on his backside, near his friends. 

Zuko grimaced in sympathy.

“Who are you?” the Avatar asked as the other boy scrambled to his feet; he had collected his staff while Zuko was distracted and now held it in front of him like a shield.

“I am Prince Ozai,” his father responded, and Zuko swelled with pride--it had been a long time since he’d heard his father claim his own title and name to others. “Exiled brother of the Fire Lord.”

“The Fire Lord!” the boy shouted.

“Sokka,” the girl hissed. “He said he has something to offer Aang.”

“Katara, he’s related to the _Fire Lord_!” Sokka waved his hands in emphasis. “We can’t just _listen_ to him.”

“Why do _you_ get to decide that?” she snapped back.

“I’m the oldest and Dad left me in charge,” Sokka said, folding his arms and looking down at her.

“Oh really?” she said, rolling her eyes. “He didn’t leave you in charge of the Avatar!”

“I’m still the oldest, so you’re both my responsibility!”

_“You’re hurting me! Ouch, Azula, get_ off _!”_

_“I barely even touched you, you big baby!”_

_“Azula, stop!”_

_“Maybe if you were_ better _like me_ _I wouldn’t be able to hurt you, dum dum!”_

Ozai glanced at Zuko as the siblings bickered, his mouth twitched in a way Zuko couldn’t read but made him flush. He wondered if his father was thinking of Azula, like he was. Or, did he and Uncle Iroh ever bicker like that, or was their age difference to great? Then, Ozai’s face flickered back to normal, and, attention returning to the group, he said, mildly, “Perhaps the Avatar has an opinion?”

Silence followed his question, until Katara said, softly, tentatively, “Aang?”

The Avatar was watching them closely, then shrugged. “I guess it can’t hurt to hear.”

*******************

Nearly ten minutes were wasted deciding _where_ to meet—the commandeered Fire Nation boat was not nearly big enough for all but the Water Tribe siblings utterly balked at being left behind with Zuko. Zuko wasn’t sure if he should feel offended or sympathetic— _he_ wanted to be privy to the meeting too, but sometimes there just wasn’t a place. 

Finally, fed up, Ozai pointed a finger at all the children, Zuko included, and ordered them to _sit down._ Zuko did hurriedly, the Avatar following a moment after. He glanced up hopefully at Katara who scowled but sat down next to him, her arms crossed. Her hand never left the flask, though. Sokka folded his arms above her, still standing. They were an uncanny image of each other. Zuko wondered if he and Azula ever looked so alike or united. Certainly never against their father, who glowered right back at the boy. 

Abruptly, and to Zuko’s great surprise, Ozai seated himself gracefully onto the ground next to him.

The boy still glowered at him, until the Avatar said, “Sokka!”

“Oh all right,” Sokka said, and plopped himself far less gracefully at his sister’s side 

“Prince Ozai,” the Avatar said after a moment, glancing around a little nervously, as if unsure how to conduct a meeting. Zuko gave him an encouraging smile—it wasn’t a bad start. “What offer do you have for me?”

Zuko got the distinct impression his father was amused, but he inclined his head and said, “The Avatar must master all four elements; however, any firebender who would teach him would be a traitor. As I am already a traitor, I offer you my service, as a Master of my element, and my protection during your journey to the North Pole.”

“How did you know we were going to the North Pole?” Sokka demanded. 

“There are no waterbenders left in the South Pole,” Ozai said. This information was well-known, but Zuko focused on where the girl’s hand grasped at her flask, harder as his father spoke. “Where else could the Avatar find a Master?”

“That’s not true,” Katara said, voice deathly quiet, even as Zuko tried to nudge his father. 

Ozai threw him such a scalding look that Zuko felt properly chagrined for having invaded his personal space; Ozai’s attention was on the girl anyway, looking at the flask the way Zuko had. 

He looked at the girl, expression inscrutable to Zuko, before he said, “Well that’s information the Fire Lord doesn’t have, but—“

“You knew I was a water bender,” she interrupted. “You said so earlier.”

“I assumed from the North,” he shrugged. 

“Our Sister Tribe,” Katara started hotly, but her brother shushed her with a scolding hiss of “ _Katara, they’re the enemy.”_

“You’ve had no contact then,” Ozai surmised, despite the boy’s efforts. “How old are you, girl?”

Katara lifted her chin and said, “Fourteen.”

Ozai looked thoughtful, like he was examining the compass or calculating sums and angles on sea charts, and Zuko ventured, “Father?”

Ozai shook himself and said, “Now’s not the time.” He turned back to Aang and said, “My offer?”

The Avatar frowned, considering. 

“What’s your price?” Sokka jumped in for him, brow still furrowed in suspicion. 

“The same as what you’ll want I’m sure,” Ozai said idly. “To overthrow the Fire Lord.”

Silence rang in his wake, until, the boy again— “You want us to help you win some sibling rivalry?!”

“It could end the war,” Aang said thoughtfully. 

“Just so,” Ozai agreed. “My brother will not yield Ba Sing Se. It's been a fool’s errand since before he ascended Agni’s throne, and he sits there now a disgrace. Remove him and place me in his stead.” 

“I don’t know,” Aang said cautiously. 

“Why are you a traitor anyway,” the girl demanded. She glanced over at her brother, as if she couldn’t imagine turning on him. “What did you do bad enough that not even the Fire Nation wants you?” 

Sokka flung out an arm in her direction, nodding as if her point were a deadly blow. 

Ozai bowed his head and said, quietly, “I saved my son.”

Zuko squirmed, face flushing, under the sudden weight of the eyes on him. 

_“But_ why _does Grandfather want to kill me?” His voice was high and annoyingly whiny, even to his own ears, but the alternative was crying and Zuko thought Father would approve of that even less. “What did I do? I didn’t mean to!”_

_“To punish me, Zuko, I’ve already told you,” Ozai said impatiently back. Zuko’s fever was breaking, but he still had trouble holding onto the details. They slipped away from him until surely he asked Ozai again the next day what had happened and why they were here. He asked and asked until the story sank in, saturated his very being so that he even dreamed of flames at his face and his father dead beside him._

“He wanted to punish me by having me murder my own son,” Ozai was saying. He was looking up again, at his rapt, horrified audience. “I could not do that, and so he tried to do it for me. You see—,” he gestured at Zuko, and Zuko ducked his head. 

It was _his_ scar, but always Ozai’s story to tell. 

“I tried to stop him, but he lived, and then I had no choice but to run before he had us both executed.” 

“Your father is not the Fire Lord anymore,” Aang pointed out. 

Ozai scowled. “My brother is a loyal son. He will carry my father’s torch, even when it means perpetuating a useless battle for decades...”

Privately, Zuko thought Iroh was carrying on the siege in Ba Sing Se for his son, not his father. Even now Zuko remembered how Ozai had scoffed at Uncle Iroh’s demonstrative affection for Lu Ten-- unseemly; inappropriate, Ozai would say. Zuko missed how Lu Ten would ruffle his hair, but he never said a word to his father about that. 

It was sentimentality, the kind that kept Iroh from unleashing true Fire Nation potential and winning the war once and for all. _His_ father would never keep a losing battle going in Zuko’s name, wasting men and resources that could better serve their people, he knew that. 

“Can we have a moment?” the Avatar was asking, jerking Zuko from his thoughts. 

Ozai nodded easily, and the three huddled a ways away. Zuko leaned back on his hands, watching as the sun began to sink behind the horizon. 

The returned after a heated, whispered deliberation. “Prince Ozai,” the Avatar said, again trying to cloak himself in formality, “I accept your offer.” 

Ozai smiled, looking sharp in his pleasure. “Excellent,” he said. “We should move on quickly, as soon as the sun rises. Our boat is too small for all of us; where have you docked yours?”

“Oh, we don’t have a boat,” the Avatar said brightly. 

This gave Ozai pause; he collected himself and asked, “No boat? How have you been travelling?”

Aang grinned “On my bison!”

“Bison?” Ozai repeated dubiously. Zuko’s eyes widened as a great beast lumbered up behind his father, and he opened his mouth as if to warn him. Ozai, always ahead of Zuko, turned to face the beast, who opened its mouth and--licked him. 

Zuko pointedly did not laugh with the others. Ozai’s look of disgust was enough to quell that--and how disrespectful! Azula would never believe him when he told her that the Avatar could be so childish. 

“Call him off,” Ozai ordered, extremely unamused, his voice tight, flames flickering in the palm of his hands. 

“Appa, no!” Aang said, waving his hands to get the bison to back down. He turned, still grinning at Ozai. Zuko wondered if he had missed the flames in hand—no one would look that cheerful when Ozai was so angry. “He likes you, Prince Ozai!”

“See that he doesn’t,” Ozai snapped, his face twisted in displeasure. 

He marched a small distance away, and Zuko followed, thinking ruefully to himself that this partnership was getting off to a great start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to keep a weekly(ish) posting schedule, but I am moving houses in the upcoming week(s), so I can't guarantee I will be able to be as quick with the next updates! Thank you all for your comments, I love getting them!


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ozai deals with the frustrating King of Omashu, and Princess Azula deals with an ambitious Naval Officer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uh WOW this chapter took way longer than I expected. It was rewritten at least three times so hopefully the end product is decent. I have started the next chapter and know where we're going next, but my fall semester has also started and my externship placement along with it, so my goal is to post every 1-2 months...which is, as it were, a goal and not an absolute. Hope y'all enjoy, and thank you for your patience! :)

Zuko stood at the top of the mail chutes, looking down nervously. The Avatar had managed to convince his father, after much nagging and headache-inducing pleading--Zuko recognized the pinched look on his father’s face--that a trip to Omashu was absolutely, totally necessary. For Avatar reasons. 

Ozai had used the opportunity to resupply, but the Avatar had given him the slip, grabbing Zuko and the Water Tribe siblings with him. Aang was explaining to them about an old friend Bumi, who had taught him to look for fun in any situation--including the mail system. 

“I don’t know about this,” Zuko said, furrowing his brow. “I don’t think my father would like it.”

“Your father doesn’t like anything,” Aang said carelessly. “Come on, it’ll be fun!” 

He exchanged a glance with Katara, who also looked unsure, but she shrugged and said, “Oh alright,” to Aang, so Zuko was roped in too. 

*******************

The Fire Lord spent his morning in meetings with his Admirals and several select Commanders. The new mission of finding the Avatar sparked something in his men--the hope, perhaps, for accomplishing something that none of Iroh’s forefathers had managed, or an exciting change from the monotony of patrolling the Fire Nation boundaries at Sea and enforcing embargoes, of even, Iroh thought, providing supplies to the Army still fighting Ba Sing Se. All important tasks, for the glory of the Fire Nation, but since Fire Lord Azulon’s death, much of the day-to-day life of the military had remained unchanged. 

There was no mention, as it were, of Iroh’s exiled brother. Iroh did not concern himself with what Ozai thought  _ he  _ could accomplish with the Avatar--his brother had always been exceedingly ambitious and had never yet managed to make any plan come to fruition. 

Zhao had tried to bring it up during the meeting, a meeting he, a Commander, as lucky to be even invited to-- a pointed look, a cleared throat-- “If I may--”

“You may not,” Iroh had said, turning back to his top Admiral to discuss the logistics of sending Zhao’s ships after the Avatar or if they were better suited to continue to supply the Army at the walls of Ba Sing Se--a small mission, you see, keep it fairly under wraps. Iroh didn’t want their spies carrying news of the Avatar to the Earth Kingdom officials, and they couldn’t afford to totally lose sight of the siege in Ba Sing Se. 

Zhao had thought his news, once shared, ought to be shared with all. Perhaps, Iroh reflected, if the Commander had gone up the proper chain of command and informed  _ his  _ Admiral who would, in turn, brief the Fleet Admiral, who would discuss with the Fire Lord. But Zhao had not, and the information was Iroh’s to keep and distribute as he will. And he did not, now, will a distraction from the Avatar or from Ba Sing Se. News of the Traitor Prince was just asking for gossip. 

The Naval meeting ended, and Iroh had only a few minutes to spare before his meeting with the Army generals. Even now, though, Commander Zhao was trying to catch the Fire Lord as he slipped away from the chattering Admirals; Iroh could hear his insistence as Tomi intercepted him, murmuring about how the Fire Lord was not available, he would schedule Zhao to meet with him later, at the Fire Lord’s leisure.

Iroh sat down in the room he’d set aside for brief moments such as this, for between meetings,, and, with a wave of his hand lit the candles. He’d only just synced his breath when a commotion outside told him that Zhao had strong-armed his way past Tomi and headfirst into the guards. 

“Let him in,” Iroh sighed, just loud enough his men could hear on the other side.

The door opened, and Zhao strode in. Tomi followed, looking harried, “Commander, this is inexcusable.”

Iroh waved his hand at Tomi, who fell silent, still red-faced. “I’m sure the commander has something urgent to discuss, if he is willing to go to such lengths.”

Zhao bowed deeply, as he murmured an apology for disturbing the Fire Lord; his gaze followed to the picture between the candles on Iroh’s little altar, and he added, “I was at school with Lt. Lu Ten. He was a very brave and noble man.”

Zhao must have been a few years older than Lu Ten, so Iroh believed it, but he was sure they did not know each other well and could hardly see the point in Zhao namedropping Iroh’s own son to him. “Yes,” the Fire Lord agreed shortly, “he was. What do you want?”

“The information I gave you before,” Zhao said smoothly. “If we proceed--” he glanced behind him, “--well, we would be chasing the same target. It would be easy to increase the bounty.”

“Traitors belong to the Fire Lord,” Iroh reminded Zhao. “That has not changed. You know your duty. Now leave me be, and do not expect such indulgence to your impertinence in the future.”

Zhao bowed again, not so deeply this time, without even the grace to look embarrassed, and backed away, out of the room. 

The door closed and the room was left in darkness, save the candles still flickering. Iroh was alone at last. 

He had not wanted to think of Ozai during these moments--he’d come to see his son, as he had done daily since he’d lost the boy, but Zhao, Agni take him, had put Ozai in his head. The arrogant prince, the assassin, the usurper, his little brother. 

_ He’d received summons back home not even a week after Lu Ten had been killed. They were written in his father’s own hand and demanded he make haste. Something had happened, and Azulon wanted Iroh close.  _

_ Iroh was loath to leave Ba Sing Se, and it was the first he’d felt since he’d first received the solemn report from a young Captain My Lee--now de facto Immediate Superior in Comand of Company 300 upon the death of every ranking officer above her--that Lt. Lu Ten, Prince of the Fire Nation, had been killed in combat.  _

_ Iroh had raged for days, but still Ba Sing Se stood, immune to the Dragon of the West and the flames licking at her walls. His rage quieted and turned numb--numb like his men, who missed their wives and own sons, who were hungry and thirsty, who were tired.  _

_ His men were tired. Iroh was tired. What was the point of useless war, an indefinite siege?  _

_ His father’s summons ought to have been a relief, a respite. They tasted, instead, of bitter failure. If the siege did not end in victory, what did that mean for Lu Ten’s sacrifice?  _

_Azulon greeted him upon his return with a dry kiss to the cheek. Then, he’d snatched Iroh’s arm, and led him away, ordering guards to stay behind. There was no consolation for a son lost, only Azulon’s quiet, enraged explanation of what had happened_ _with Ozai, his own son, now lost._

Ozai, Iroh reflected, was a fool. His ambition blinded him, had blinded him long before he’d betrayed Azulon, and, by extension, Iroh himself. If what Zhao reported was true, Iroh had to wonder--did Ozai really expect the Avatar to put an assassin on Agni’s throne? 

There was an itch, in the back of Iroh’s mind, that wondered about the young prince Zuko. He never scratched it, though it’d presented itself, randomly, throughout the years. If he’d had, he’d might have wondered how Zuko had gotten mixed up in Ozai’s plot in the first place. Ozai would not have included Zuko unless he had something to offer, and rarely did Ozai see much value in the boy. Then again, Zuko had always been loyal to a fault--had he tried to help on his own? Or had the boy just been caught in the crossfires of his father and grandfather?

Azulon did not think it possible Zuko had survived the assassination attempt. Iroh sometimes wondered idly, though only briefly because he did not scratch the itch, if the boys were together somewhere. Lu Ten had always been fond of his little cousins.

He breathed in deeply--his meditation had gone past the start of his next meeting, but he did not feel much restored, distracted as he was with the news of Ozai. He opened his eyes, glanced once more at the painting of Lu Ten, then gave it a small bow. Whatever spirits might be out there now, he had eyes only for his own son--honor only to give to him. 

He made his way to the meeting with the Generals, Lu Ten on his mind, always Lu Ten at the forefront. He would listen to them squabble about how they needed more supplies and more personnel--who needed them more--and how they might reconsider seizing Omashu.

The Earth Kingdom won’t fall with Omashu--we  _ need  _ Ba Sing Se--

And back to men and supplies and numbers and strategy. 

Iroh thought of Lu Ten as the Generals debated and vowed they would not lose. His son will not have died in vain. 

*******************

“Explain to me again,” Ozai said, trying to stay calm, “why this stop to Omashu was necessary?”

“Umm,” the Avatar said. He scuffed his toe across the ground, but didn’t look nearly as shame-faced as he ought to, surrounded by the King’s guards, who had also escorted Ozai himself to the King’s hall. “I used to come here as a kid.”

Ozai glowered at him until he added, “And I wanted to ride the mail chutes again.”

“Mail chutes,” Ozai repeated, unimpressed. Then, “Where’s my son?” 

“Well you see,” Aang started, again, scuffing his toe into the earth. A laugh from behind interrupted the Avatar’s answer, and Ozai turned to the source. 

An old man with mismatched eyes, dressed in green robes and an elaborate headpiece, was advancing. He had to be the King of Omashu, Ozai thought, but he did not bow as the guards did. He scowled instead. 

Behind him, the guards escorted Zuko and the Water Tribe children, each with a green crystal ring on their finger. 

“Aang!” the girl cried, as if the boy could help when he was the one who’d gotten them into this predicament. 

“Katara!” the Avatar said, then, turning furiously to the king, “What did you do to them?”

“You brought firebenders into my city, Avatar,” the King said severely. The guards closed in on him, and Ozai frowned. He had spent years hiding in his own nation and in the territories, but he had not once considered being captured by the Earth Kingdom proper. 

“I, uh, he’s on our side?” Aang offered.

Ozai scoffed. He wasn’t on the side of any lesser kings. The King of Omashu seemed to realize this because he snorted skeptically. 

“Come,” the king said, gesturing, “We feast.”

Well. That was not what Ozai had expected. His own father would have punished the trespassers on spot, if he’d been dragged out to deal with them. 

“Feast?” repeated the Water Tribe boy, incredulously, apparently thinking along the same lines as Ozai. “I thought we were prisoners!”

“I’ll explain everything,” The King said, “over chicken! It’s skinless”

“Oh uh, I’m a vegetarian,” the Avatar said, even as the Omashu guards pressed in around them until they were forced to move into the hall. 

The King laughed--an altogether undignified affair, complete with snorting. Ozai watched him, evaluating. 

He had learned long ago, from his tutors, that, while the Earth King ruled over the entire kingdom, the city-states beneath him enjoyed significant autonomy; some, like Omashu, even retained their monarchs. He supposed each monarch would dole out justice in their own way. 

It would be better, he thought, if the Earth King, like the Fire Lord, ruled with absolute authority. That way, at least, justice would be consistent across the kingdom. The people would know what to expect. Here...well, judging by their king, there could be little in the ways of justice. 

As they were pushed together, Ozai fell in line with the children. He raised his eyebrows at Zuko, who flushed and glanced away. The other children might be used to running wild, but Zuko certainly knew better. It was the only reprimand he could give now, in this situation, but it was enough to let Zuko know they’d be discussing his behavior later. 

They were seated at a table, and the King even got up to offer them food himself, despite the servants milling around, looking uncomfortable. When he still set a chicken leg down on the Avatar’s plate, Ozia wondered if it were a particularly petty show of power. 

Ozai did not eat immediately, though the Water Tribe boy dug in with gusto, apparently unconcerned that the food might be poisoned. It would not be an elegant execution--very little purpose in assassinating any of them except the Avatar--but Ozai was well aware that anyone, for any reason, could be collateral damage.    


There was also the matter of the actual  _ damage _ the children had done. As the only adult here, he supposed it fell onto him to discuss their path forward. Not touching his food, he turned to the King and began, “I am uninformed on the laws in your city. What are the children accused of?”

“Vandalism, traveling under false pretenses, and malicious destruction of cabbages,” the king rattled off, then chortled. 

Ozai could feel a headache coming on. “Surely,” he said. “The juvenile antics of youth aren’t worthy of such--”

“I told you,” the king said. “Punishments are  _ mine _ . Eat up!” 

The Water Tribe boy didn’t seem to be having any adverse reactions, so Ozai lifted a knife to delicately carve away at the chicken leg in front of him. 

“We can pay damages,” Ozai continued, “and be out of your city before sunset.” 

“Hmm,” the king said, then, cheerfully, “No!”

Ozai inhaled deeply, head pounding, to tame the flames licking at his fingertips. It would not do to make matters worse. 

The King was watching him intently, but looked away when Ozai looked back at him. “Are you planning,” Ozai said, calmly, “to tell us your judgment any time soon?”

The King chortled. “How impatient you are,” he said. “How very  _ firebender _ .” He turned to the Avatar, however, and declared, “The Avatar must complete three deadly challenges! That is my judgement. They begin at sundown!” 

“That’s absurd!” Ozai snapped, rising. The guards began to enclose around him, but he was not intimidated. “What a ridiculous exchange--this is hardly a  _ game _ .” 

Such a trivial matter would never have been brought before the Fire Lord, but if it had, Ozai’s father would not have wasted everyone’s time and energy in such an immature way. Not even Iroh, as eccentric as he could be, would dole out such a penalty. With men like this in charge, it was a wonder that the Earth Kingdom hadn’t yet fallen to the Fire Nation.

A wonder, or his brother’s incompetence. 

“Tonight,” the king said, ignoring Ozai, “you’ll be shown to your chambers.” 

“If we refuse,” Ozai asked, eyeing the guards around him. He could take them easily, and with the Avatar’s support, could be out of the city before alarms were even raised.

The King laughed again, grating on Ozai’s nerves, but then he strode forward and grasped Zuko’s wrist. Ozai opened his mouth to tell him to unhand the boy at once, but the King spoke first. 

“See this ring on his finger?” the king said, tugging Zuko forward to show Ozai. “It’s made of creeping crystal. By nightfall tomorrow, unless the Avatar cooperates, the creeping crystal will have  _ creeped!  _ If you leave now, the children will be consumed by it.”

Ozai clenched his jaw, staring at the green ring on his son’s finger. “If I take it off,” he said, reaching. 

“You can’t!” crowed the king. “It’s subject only to Earthbenders.” 

Ozai said nothing, and the King of Omashu nodded, satisfied, before ordering his guards to lead the prisoners to their appropriate room. 

“Well, it’s a nice room,” the Avatar said, with a little shrug. 

“We’re still prisoners!” the Water Tribe boy declared to his friends, and it made Ozai angrier that he agreed with the imbecile. 

In a foul temper, before anyone else could comment on the situation, Ozai rounded on his own son. “Give me your hand.”

Zuko offered it freely, though he looked apprehensive. 

“What are you going to do?” the Avatar asked, concerned, as Ozai examined the ring. It was bright green and gaudy, thick around his son’s slender finger. Ozai gave it an experimental pull, but it did not budge. 

“We’ve already tried taking them off,” the Water Tribe boy added, tugging on his own ring to emphasize. 

“Hold still,” Ozai told Zuko, ignoring them. He hovered his own hand over the ring and let the heat come gradually at first, then with more intensity when the ring did not respond.

“Stop it!” the girl’s voice cut through his concentration, shrill with alarm. “You’re hurting him, stop it!”   


Ozai did not release Zuko’s wrist, but he let his flames cool and looked away from the unresponsive ring to his son’s face, shining with sweat. A bead of blood welled on his lip from where he had been biting it, without Ozai noticing. 

He had gone too far--though he supposed a small burn would be preferable to being consumed by crystals, Ozai hadn’t meant to actually injure the boy. 

“I was fine!” Zuko snapped, glaring at the girl. He gestured up at his face in a way that made Ozai cold inside, “I’ve had worse!” 

She looked affronted. “Well fine! Next time I won’t help!” 

“Good, don’t!”   


“Fine!”

Ozai grabbed Zuko’s upper arm, snapping, “Stop debasing yourself.” With his son in his grip, looking both furious and embarrassed, the cold and anger licking inside him redirected. “We still haven’t discussed your behavior.” 

“Because what I don’t understand,” Ozai continued, voice rising, letting the anger course through him now that he had a target--like lighting, always true to aim, and the boy had cast his eyes down, ashamed, “is why you did this. How could you think something so childish and reckless was acceptable or appropriate behavior?” 

“I’m sorry,” Zuko said quietly, but the Avatar’s voice overlapped his.

“It was my fault,” he said. “My friend and I used to ride the mail chutes when I would come here. I made everyone try. It was fun.” He pulled his knees up to his chest, and sighed wistfully. “Things sure have changed around here.”

“You do bear responsibility,” Ozai agreed curtly, cutting off whatever denial the girl was readying for the monk. “The Avatar ought to act more responsibly. But all the same,” he added, half turning back to his son, voice stern and cool, “Zuko  _ knows _ better than to follow so thoughtlessly.”

_ “It was Azula’s idea, you know, dear,” Ursa said, sitting on the sofa as Ozai readied himself for bed. “She bullied him into doing it. I don’t think you had to be so stern with Zuko.” _

_ “Of course I know,” Ozai said impatiently. He looked up and caught sight of her in his mirror, frowning pensively into her cup of night-time tea. With a sigh, he turned and approached, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She looked up at him, and he continued, “You coddle him, Ursa. How will he ever learn to stand up for himself?”  _

Zuko accepted his scolding, but the Avatar still looked guilty. He sighed and flopped onto his bed, an almost pitiable figure. After a moment he brightened and sat up again, suggesting a hairbrained plan of sending his lemur through the vent to get the bison to come save them.

That he was in earnest and not trying to diffuse tension only increased Ozai’s ill-feelings; the dormant pain in his head from dinner pulsed again as the peasant boy entertained the notion, and he ordered them all to bed just for a moment of peace. 

*******************

Ozai stayed up while the children slept, thinking. The siblings slept deeply, the boy snoring loudly, even, but the Avatar, though he never woke, tossed restlessly; occasionally, Ozai noticed his son’s golden eyes fixed on him, well aware he was awake too, but Ozai ignored him; the boy never said a word, and he seemed to doze, even if in fits. 

It would not do, Ozai thought, to rely on the Avatar triumphing in the king’s games--who could even guess what they might be. He could not risk Zuko’s life, the one he’d sacrificed everything for, to the whims of a mad man and the skills of a child in training. 

No, Ozai would have to step in. He frowned, in the dark, all the children asleep, and considered. One could not fight a true Agni Kai against an Earthbender, but Ozai had been debasing himself for years now, and winning a duel against any bender, though lesser, was an admirable show of Firebending prowess. 

It helped that Ozai had wanted to fight the King since he’d first seen him in the courtyard with his mismatched eyes and undignified laugh; that he refused to be straightforward over supper had also given Ozai the still-pounding headache that made him want to burn everything down. 

**********************

Commander Zhao was stinging from the Fire Lord’s earlier dismissal of him; the whole palace had heard about it by early afternoon, and Azula could see he was wounded in how stiffly he held himself. 

Someone, apparently, had never told him that that was just how the Fire Lord  _ was _ . Azula knew--she had been dismissed when she had important things to say more times than she could count, had been kept out of important meetings when she could contribute, had been told it was not her place to interfere with court politics. 

Well, it was surely more  _ her  _ place than  _ Zhao’s _ .

She fell into step beside him as he walked the halls and said, “Commander.”

He paused, just enough to give her a cursory bow. “Princess.”

His stride was long, but Azula kept up easily. She wondered if Uncle, with his squat legs and aging bones, could have without jogging or panting in an undignified manner. 

“What can I do for you, Princess?” Zhao asked after a moment. 

Azula didn’t answer immediately. She inspected her nails, letting Zhao wait as she chose her words carefully; she only had this chance to draw him in before he was back at sea.

“I heard,” she said, “what happened this morning with my uncle.” 

He did not flush, exactly--somehow too dignified for that, despite his lower birth-- but she could tell he was embarrassed. 

“You came to the wrong person,” she continued. Zhao’s step faltered, just slightly, but there was no one around besides them and the guards. “I might be able to better help.”

She stopped and turned to face him head-on, thrilled she had his attention. “I’m listening,” he said.

“I’d like news of your search for Prince Ozai,” Azula said.

He hesitated. “The search is for the Avatar,” he told her. 

“According to my uncle,” she said smoothly. “I’m sure you had...other ideas.”

“I have my orders,” Zhao said, and she lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. 

“You do,” she agreed. “But  _ I  _ value information on Prince Ozai and  _ I _ ,” she stressed the pronoun, “am the one who can guarantee you a promotion. Don’t you  _ want  _ to be an Admiral?” __

That got his attention. “You?” he asked, in almost a sneer. “ _ You’re  _ a child.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding surprised. “I suppose so. Marti,” she called to her own secretary. “Cancel my meeting this afternoon with Admiral Hu.”

Before Marti could even say “yes Princess,” a feat as Marti was very quick, Zhao, suddenly attentive at the Fleet Admiral’s name, said, “Wait” and Azula smirked. 

“Yes?”

“You could really secure me a promotion?”

She looked back at her fingernails, blasé. “You’ve been away from court too long, Commander,” she told him. “Of course I can.”   


He was quiet a moment. Then, victory. “What do you want?”

She smiled. “As I said, information.” She started walking again, hands clasped loosely behind her back and Zhao took a few extra steps to catch up. “I would like any information on the exiled prince’s activity. If you find him, I want to know.” She paused, as if deciding on her next point. “And...whatever  _ other  _ information you find appropriate. 

Zhao understood her meaning. “I saw no boy,” he said.

“Oh him,” she said arily. Zuko wasn’t even important. Not  _ really _ . “Who cares? I mean  _ anything _ . Including about the Avatar or even unusual Earth Kingdom ship movement.”

Zhao nodded, then bowed, far more formally this time. “Yes, Princess.” He paused and added, “For what it’s worth, the FIre Lord does not seem enthused about news of the exiled prince.” 

“That’s worth quite a bit,” Azula said, smiling--she had won another one. 

*******************

When morning came, Ozai stepped forward, ahead of the Avatar, and issued the challenge. 

“Your Highness,” he declared, politely derisive of the King’s title, “I challenge you to a duel for our freedom.”

The King wagged a finger at him, “Don’t go spoiling my games, Firebender.”

“Earthbender,” Ozai repeated, using his other title, “Answer me.”

“Oh, alright,” the King said. There was a glint in his eye that, had he noticed, Ozai would have been wary of. Ozai did not notice, and, instead, smiled himself-- a small, self-satisfied smile.

“The terms are,” he said, “just the two of us, element only. First to step out of the arena loses. If I win, we leave your city, free men--”   


“And women!” the Water Tribe girl called, and Ozai rolled his eyes. “And  _ children _ ,” he finished.

“Hmm,” the king said. “One change.” Ozai tilted his head to indicate he was listening. “First knockdown loses. That is the way of the Earth Kingdom, and so will hold here, even against a Firebender.”

“Agreed,” Ozai said, stepping forward, but the king held up his hand. 

Ozai halted, his desire to hit something--or  _ someone _ \--rising with his frustration. “Yes?”

“You’ve forgotten a condition,” the King said, putting on a pretend childish voice that grated. “And it’s not fair! What do  _ I  _ get if  _ I  _ win?”

“What do you want?” He asked carefully--if the original punishment wouldn’t hold….

The King looked thoughtful for a moment then said, “Got it!” 

Ozai waited. “Well?” he said when the king wasn’t forthcoming. 

“I’m not telling!” The King said, cheerfully, like a child, and Ozai spluttered. 

“Make the terms clear!” he demanded. “This is madness.”

“Dear man,” the King grinned. He straightened up and shrugged off his cloak--his disrobing revealed, not a weak, withered body Ozai had expected but a strong man beneath the elederly facade. “This is Omashu!” 

He stamped his foot and raised his arms, an arena coming up with them. It was flat, made entirely of earth. The King shifted again, crafting a staircase in the Earth so that Ozai could ascend. 

“Dad,” Zuko said nervously, when Ozai took a step. He paused to glance at his son, who said, “It’s all Earth. He has an advantage.”

Ozai scoffed at the boy’s worry, “And I have the advantage of fire, a superior element.” He gave his son a sideways, disappointed look, as he added, “You ought to remember that yourself.” 

The King, overhearing, laughed from above. “Pride won’t win a battle,” he taunted, even as a shard of crystal sprouted around Zuko’s feet. “And it won’t save your son.”

Ozai’s face twisted, but he hurried up the stairs, removing his own tunic as he did so. As Ozai reached the top, the King stamped a foot again, raising several pillars up on the outskirts of the arena-- one for the Avatar, one of the other children, stumbling slightly to maintain balance, and several with various guards. 

“Watch well, Avatar,” the King called, and Ozai readied his stance, a foot in front of the other, bend in his knees, arm outstretched. The King settled into his own, a horse stance that rooted him far more solidly into the ground.

Ozai drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, as he watched the King. The King was watching him too, waiting. Ozai drew in another breath and as he let it out threw his back hand into a punch. A fireball burst from his fist towards the King, and he stepped along with his fist, throwing several more.

His punches were precise, but the King didn’t move how Ozai expected him to. He stayed rooted, anticipating where Ozai might strike, and only making minute changes in his stance. 

“Firebending” the king explained to the Avatar, through the attacks, “is based in kicking and punching. Observe his dynamic movement.” Ozai advanced again, shooting another fireball and trying to ignore the commentary. The King threw up a wall of earth to block it. But,” and here he laughed, “ _ this  _ firebender has never fought a bender of another element. Let’s see how he adapts.”

Ozai gritted his teeth, drawing a leg up to kick--what did it  _ matter _ if he’d never fought an Earthbender? He’d fought plenty of firebenders, who were all better trained in a superior element than this peasant king.

_ “Well you’re only fighting Eartbenders,” Ozai scoffed. “Surely you’ve beaten better while sparring.”  _

_ “Make your move, Little Prince,” Iroh told him, causing Ozai to scowl. He hated all the nicknames Iroh came up for him--as if Ozai, at ten, weren’t already nearly grown and almost old enough to join the Army with Iroh.  _

_ Iroh didn’t respond again until Ozai plucked a piece and put it back down carelessly. Ozai had wanted to spar, but his brother always insisted on playing Pai Sho when he was visiting; he never remembered Ozai didn’t like it.  _

_ “You’re impatient,” Iroh told him, frowning down at the board. Ozai huffed.  _

_ “Well?” he pressed. “Won’t you be only fighting Earthbenders?’ _

_ Iroh looked up and smiled. “A whole army of Earthbenders. If they were so easily done away with, we’d have conquered the Kingdom by now.” _

The King slammed a foot into the ground, and the Earth rippled under Ozai’s feet. He lost balance and began to fall. He would have lost, then and there, but he caught himself on his hand, balancing his weight there, and twisted around into a spin kick. Fire shot towards the King’s feet. 

The King jumped, avoiding the flames, and Ozai followed up, trying to take advantage of the momentary imbalance, but the King landed again solidly on his feet.

“Not bad,” he chortled, but his smile was ominous. “See Avatar, he’s recognized that the Earthbender must be rooted to his element and has tried to disrupt me from here. But I’m getting a little bored of fireballs,” he called to Ozai. “Show me something new!” 

A moment later, he’d raised several chunks of earth from the ground, and, still rooted, he moved his fists and threw them at Ozai. 

Ozai dodged left and right--the first rock just missed his face. The second grazed his shoulder, pushing him back a step. He landed unbalanced, weight on his back foot, and wobbled for a moment before bending over backwards onto his hand. He kicked himself into a flip, a stream of fire arcing towards the King, who laughed appreciatively. “A smokescreen! Something creative, finally! Be careful it doesn’t...backfire!”

A rock flew through the smoke. Ozai tried to right himself, and the first missed. He threw more fire in the general direction the rocks had come from. He breathed in smoke and breathed out fire, advancing towards where he thought the King was...if he could get close enough while the King didn’t see him and sweep the legs--

Another rock caught him in the chest, forcing him back a step. He couldn’t see the King anymore, his own smoke clouding his vision, but he heard someone--Zuko--shout out a warning--

\--the rock came through the smoke and struck him in the face. The blow came with enough force that it knocked Ozai onto his back.

He blinked open his eyes to find the King standing over him, twirling several large boulders in the air, still grinning. “I win.”

“ _ I win again,” Iroh said. Then, kindly,  _ condescendingly,  _ “You’re getting better, Ozai.” _

_ “Shut up,” Ozai told him, scowling. He hated losing.  _

_ “Here,” Iroh said, resetting the board. “Let’s try again.” _

_ Ozai picked up the board and flung it away. “I  _ hate  _ this game!”  _

_ “Ozai!” Iroh scolded, sounding surprised. “That’s not a decent way to lose.” _

_ Ozai could feel his face growing red, but he couldn’t stop himself. He hated Pai Sho and he hated Iroh. “I don’t care,” he said. “It’s a dumb game.” _

_ Iroh shook his head. “Pick it up, Ozai, and sit down. We’ll try again.” _

_ “No!” Ozai shouted. His heart raced. “You’re not Father, you can’t tell me what to do!” _

_ “He would be just as disappointed in such a childish display,” Iroh snapped back. Ozai was almost smug at having gotten through Iroh’s calm facade, but Iroh’s words stung.  _

_ “I don’t care,” he repeated. “I don’t!”  _

_ Iroh reached out and grabbed Ozai’s arm, yanking him around the table towards the game pieces. “If you didn’t cheat,” he snapped as Ozai stumbled, “you wouldn’t lose as badly.” _

_ “I don't cheat,” Ozai said. To his utter humiliation, tears pricked at his eyes. He blinked them away quickly, and Iroh didn’t seem to notice as he pushed the boy to the ground to pick up the pieces, still intent on his lecture. “You do,” his brother told him, “you cheat and then act shamefully in defeat. It’s not becoming of any man, much less a prince.” _

_ “You’re not my father,” Ozai repeated, feeling like he was losing again. Then, nastily, thinking of Iroh’s young wife laid up in bed and, though he didn’t exactly know what had happened, of how he was going to be an uncle but now he wasn’t, “You’re not  _ anybody’s  _ father.” _

_ Ozai’s blow landed, and it felt good to see the surprise and pain on Iroh’s face. He could still win, even if it was dirty.  _

_ The victory was short lived as Iroh’s face flickered into an ugly, angry grimace. He looked far less like the kooky prince Ozai knew and much more like the warrior everyone else thought he was. Ozai flinched away, sure Iroh was about to strike him.  _

_ “Do not speak, little prince, of things you don’t understand,” Iroh snarled instead. He drew in several deep breaths, taking a few steps away, as if also afraid he might hit the boy. He looked away, breathing heavily, and Ozai looked down at the Pai Sho pieces. He did not pick them up.  _

_ Eventually, long after Ozai thought Iroh wasn’t going to say anymore, his older brother spoke. “One day, Prince Ozai,” Iroh told him, sounding bleak and stern, “Someone is going to teach you respect, and you won’t like it. I hope you are ashamed of how disgracefully you have just behaved.” _

_ “Are you going to tell Father?” Ozai asked in a small voice, but Iroh didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his back on Ozai and left him alone in the rubble of his defeat.  _

Ozai breathed in and out, furious, breaths coming in short puffs. He raised a fist and shot a fireball up at the King, who scowled as he dodged. He wagged a finger at Ozai, as if scolding an insolent child, and said, “Uh, uh uh, I won fair and square. Your rules. No take backsies.” 

As he spoke, he encased Ozai’s hands in feet in stones, like cuffs. “So predictable,” he said shaking his head sadly. Ozai opened his mouth, ready to launch a stream of fire at him, like a dragon, when a scuffle from one of the pillars distracted him. 

Zuko was calling to him, trying to get from his pillar to the platform on the arena, but the crystal was growing quickly and he struggled to move. Ozai drew a deep breath in instead, and sat up, even as the Avatar jumped over to them, using his own bending.

“Stay put, Zuko,” Ozai ordered, then, struggling to his feet, the rock still cuffing them, faced the King. He did not bow, as was proper in the Fire Nation, and he did not claim defeat. Should the King ask too much, he wanted to call the farce into doubt. 

“What are your demands?” he asked instead.

“Will you let our friends go?” the Avatar added, anxiously. 

Ozai shot him an annoyed look, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“My terms,” the King said, then paused, dramatically. “Are for the Avatar to--”

“I’ll do your tasks,” the boy interrupted. Ozai tried to slice his hand through the air to tell the boy to be quiet, but they were still cuffed in rock. He settled for another, more poisonous look. The Avatar caught this one and frowned, but the King chortled. 

“I have a question that the Avatar must answer. He should be able to figure it out if he was watching closely.” The King paused again, while the Avatar looked uncertain. The Avatar nodded, and the King continued. 

“What,” the King posed the question with his typical flair, “is my name?”

The Avatar blinked in surprise. “How am I supposed to know that?”

Ozai glanced over at where the children were--a shoot of crystal shot up the side of his son’s neck. “He told you to think,” Ozai said impatiently. “It might be worth it to try that for once. Not everything gets handed to you.”

The Avatar gave him affronted look. “ _ You’re  _ the one who lost,” he snapped. 

“You’re the one who led the others into this mess,” Ozai scolded. “Now think and answer his question. He clearly knows you.”

“Everyone knows me,” the Avatar said sulkily. “I’m the Avatar.” But he frowned, considering. “Well, he thought you fought predictably, not creatively,” he said slowly, and Ozai rolled his eyes. “And nothing that’s happened since we got here has been what I expected. What anyone expected.” That was certainly the truth, Ozai thought, just as the Avatar brightened. 

“I know your name!” he said, excitedly. “Bumi!” And he rushed to hug the King. Several guards began to come forward, but the King hugged the Avatar back, saying, “Oh Aang, it’s been a while.”

“Excuse me,” Ozai said impatiently. “What does this mean? Are we free to go?” 

The Avatar babbled an answer about Bumi being an old friend of his, but Ozai only half-listened as he glanced back at the children. The Water Tribe siblings were almost entirely covered in the rock, and his son was no better. Even as he watched, the crystal grew sprouted up around his face. How much longer until he couldn’t breathe? 

“And can you do something about that?” He interrupted the Avatar, tilting his head towards the children, hands still cuffed.    


“A little help here!” the Water Tribe boy, only his face still exposed, called up, echoing the sentiment, and the King laughed again. Moving into an Earthbending stance, he brought the pillar the children were on towards the arena. With another move, he broke apart the crystal from each of them, easily. 

“Gemenite is rock candy!” he said, catching a piece and taking a bite. He waved the piece at Ozai. “There was never any danger.”

Ozai scowled, unamused. Trickery, shenanigans--the man who called himself king was insufferably immature. “Why,” he snarled, “would you go to this trouble for someone you consider a  _ friend _ and not just tell him who you are?”

King Bumi tilted his head and shrugged. “It’s fun to mess with people.” He chortled, and waved an arm, releasing Ozai’s bonds. “You, in particular.” Then, more seriously, he said, “But I have some advice to impart, and we can thank you for the lesson.”

“Aang,” he continued, and the Avatar perked up. “Pure strength is not enough to defeat the Fire Nation and restore balance to the world.” 

Ozai scoffed--the Fire Nation was strong--the Avatar’s only hope was to be stronger. Maybe thinking differently had helped him win the challenges, but a head-on attack was the only way he’d brought down the King in a duel. King Bumi slid him a glance with those wild eyes, and added, to the Avatar, “You will need to think creatively--like a Mad Genius.”

“If that’s all then,” Ozai started. 

“It’s not, Prince Ozai,” the king’s voice was unusually grave, and it gave Ozai pause. He had not realized, either, that he had been recognized, and he, unlike others, did not like to make a game of his identity. Ozai turned back to him, face impassive, and opened his mouth to speak again.

The King jabbed a finger in his direction before Ozai could begin, and warned, “The King and the Land are one.” As he said this, he slammed a foot into the ground, tearing away a piece of the earth. He moved a hand, and the earth became particles in the air, floating around them. “You would do well to remember that.”

Ozai narrowed his eyes. He supposed he should have realized that an Earth King was so sentimental about the dirt around him, but Bumi knew who he was, knew his element was  _ within  _ him--what worthless advice, what a pointless threat. 

“Oh, look,” Bumi said, dropping the dirt. “There’s Appa!” 

“We’re free to go, then,” Ozai said, and the King said, “Not free, Prince Ozai. You earned your freedom from an old man’s lessons.” 

Ozai rolled his eyes, but the Avatar bowed and said, “We’ll remember your wisdom, Bumi,” and they all clambored back aboard the Bison. 

*******************

The newly promoted Admiral Zhao was readying himself to return to his ships and the sea when he received summons from the Princess. 

She had her own office where, presumably, she devoted time to her studies and tutored lessons. It was here that her secretary led the Admiral. She was sitting at her desk, bent over a scroll, but glanced up when Marti presented him to her. 

“Ah, Admiral,” she said, as Zhao bowed low to her. “I’m glad I caught you before you left.”

She paused a moment, finishing what writing she was doing on the scroll, then lent back into her chair, still graceful, perfect posture. She was every inch a proper Princess and more commanding than the Fire Lord himself. 

“I trust you’re enjoying your promotion?”

He smiled and said, “Sailors belong on ships, and ships belong at sea. I’m eager to return.”

“Of course.” Her returned smile was far more dangerous than Zhao would have expected on so young a face. “I wanted to meet with you becaus I think you’ll be integral to my plans.”

She paused, her fingers steepling, as if evaluating, and he nodded. 

“My uncle does not know these plans, you understand,” she continued. Zhao thought her uncle knew very little about his heir. “And only the few I’ve chosen do.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, and he bowed his head. “I speak only at Your Highness’s discretion.”

“Good,” she said. “I will need you, I suspect, most of all.” She leaned forward, across the desk, her voice dropping, “I am planning an invasion of the North Pole. The Fire Lord has eyes only on Ba Sing Se; he doesn’t see beyond his own grief. But in order to succeed, the Fire Nation needs more open waterways; we’ve been stymied too long by the walls of that city, and it’s time we look elsewhere to strengthen us and then return, to victory.”

Zhao smiled as she spoke. “I have long thought,” he said, when she finished, “that the Fire Nation ought to turn our eyes North. Your Highness indeed has great vision.”

“I do,” she agreed, otherwise unswayed by the flattery. “I’m glad you are in support of this initiative. Your fellow Admirals and several Generals are also involved in my plans. I will need you to be responsive, even while at sea.”

“Of course, Princess,” he said, nodding again in deference.

“Good,” she said. “Dismissed.”

“Princess,” he said, and she looked up when he didn’t move, frowning. “Yes?”

“I...strongly suspect the Avatar will be heading to the North Pole,” Admiral Zhao informed her. “He will be in need of a Waterbending teacher--,”

“And there are none at the South Pole,” Azula finished for him, resting her chin on top of her hands, looking thoughtful. “Perhaps we have a chance to kill two turtleducks with one stone.”

“The Fire Lord, of course, expects us all to be on the lookout for the Avatar,” Zhao said. “But, as you might know, the disgraced Prince Ozai was seeking him out as well. Your Uncle did not want...us to interfere, unless, necessary, but….”

“My father,” Azula said, her voice icy, “is a traitor. If you receive information about him, I want to know. If he stands in your way...well, do what you have to. Keep me informed on him, as I will on how you ought to be moving ahead of this Invasion. Do not act without my express permission.”

Zhao bowed again, murmuring, “As Your Highness commands,” but he could not suppress the satisfied smile as he was dismissed and retreated to his own ship. He was so caught up in his own planning for deployment he did not notice the thoughtful scowl his Princess wore as he departed. 

*******************

“Your friends are weird, Aang,” the Water Tribe boy said later, as they were flying away from Omashu. 

“No,” the Avatar laughed. “Bumi’s a genius.”

“Your judgment was poor,” Ozai inserted sternly. “Your antics could have had worse consequences, had this King not been your friend.”

The Avatar frowned at him, then said, “You know, Prince Ozai, I have a question for you. Earlier, you offered to pay the damages for the mail system. How were you going to do that?” 

“Oh,” Ozai said, nonchalantly, plucking some of the white bison hair off his clothing, “I was going to sell him the bison.”

The Avatar’s mouth fell open in the exaggerated outrage only a child could manage. “You can’t  _ sell  _ Appa!” he exclaimed. 

“Would you rather I sold Sokka?” Ozai shot back, offended. “Those were our options.”

“No one’s selling anybody!” the girl jumped in, even as her brother said, “Hey!”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Ozai agreed, glancing at the boy. “The boomerang would be worth far more than the boy.”

“Hey!” Sokka said again, even as Ozai settled himself further back in the saddle, folding his arms across his chest. “Not true!”

“You can  _ sell  _ people in the Earth Kingdom?” Zuko asked, appalled. 

“Of course not,” the girl snapped, though she sounded a little uncertain. More firmly, she insisted, “No one’s selling anyone.”

“Thats...that’s barbaric!” Zuko said, and she laughed derisively --”Well, you’re one to talk!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he said back. 

The peasant boy went on as if he could not hear the others bickering, “I mean, this baby is handcrafted and a perfectly designed weapon, but it’s nothing without a  _ warrior  _ to wield it!”

Ozai closed his eyes, the wind cooling his face. The boy was still protesting his worth, but the girl had been distracted from bickering with Zuko to reassure the Avatar that  _ really _ , no one would sell Appa, she wouldn’t let them. 

It was, somehow, less of a headache than the King of Omashu had been, and Ozai drifted to sleep, doing his best to forget Bumi’s cryptic warnings to him.


End file.
